Hours of Midnight
by Drizzlecake
Summary: A thing can only be broken so many times before you have to stop trying to put it back together. For Jess and Rory, that point had long since past. But sometimes, if you're very lucky, fate hands you a second chance on a silver platter... Literati


The lonely hours of midnight

" _This is my stop.."_

" _Ok."_

" _You'll call me?"_

" _Yeah. I'll call you."_

Cracking the seal of sleep, brown eyes open on a ceiling painted gray by the darkness of night. Blinking, Jess turned to his side and shifted his alarm clock towards him. 12:47. Hell. He had only fallen asleep an hour ago. Adjusting his pillow, he shut his eyes again as the words from his dream echoed through his mind. Blue eyes seemed to stare back at him, still questioning, trusting and hurt all at the same time.

Where in the world had his mind decided to drag that particular memory out of?

Opening his eyes once more, he flipped back onto his back and stared at the grayness of the ceiling once more. The mind always came up with the strangest fragments of imagination and memory in the hours around midnight. Sometimes they were great. A spark, written sleepily on the inside cover of a book to be examined later and built on. An entire world could be constructed out a thought born in the dark, over weeks, months, even years. He controlled everything, word by word, page by page, and finally, cover to cover. If you didn't like it, you simply ignored it or tossed it away.

And then there was this shit.

The kind of fragment that kept you staring at a ceiling at hours you'd rather be sleeping. A fossil dug out of a box buried so deep in a closet you forget it's there. Something that despite all your better judgment has you examining all of that damn boxes contents, even though there's nothing there you haven't seen before. You can't stop it. Once out, everything demands to be seen again. It will parade all of its friends around your brain. Every laugh, tear, glance and smile. Everything you should have said. Everything you said and shouldn't have. Every touch. Every single god damned memory that has no place in your life anymore.

" _...Only say no if you really dont want to be with me...!"_

" _NO!"_

Shaking his head and running his hands through his hair, he drags himself up into a slumped sitting position, head bowed toward his sheets, he takes a few deep breaths in and out.

" _You wrote a book!"_

Sighing, he gets up and angrily yanks his pillow and a blanket off the bed, wandering out to the living room. He had fought this particular demon before and lost. He had learned to let it run its course, recalling a line from a book about how the things you let go would teach you how to fly. He had let go. He learned to fly. And yet, here he was. Just try to explain it. There is no explaining love lost, no matter how long gone.

Settling on the couch, he flips on the tv and blindly surfs channels. Infomercial… infomercial…alien documentary.. food show….

His finger pauses on the remote button when a familiar face catches his attention. Humphrey Bogart was leaning on a bar, gripping a drink and staring despondently into space. "Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine…" Smirking, Jess tosses the remote on the back of the couch and mock saluted the screen. Grabbing a novel of the coffee table, he picked up where he left off, glancing at Casablanca as it played out its story every so often. He must have drifted back off again, since before he knew it, his eyes were opened again by the sound of a plane engine, and the infamous line "…here's looking at you kid." Jess blinked slowly a few times before shutting off the tv and closing his eyes again, sleep finally winning a hard won battle.

" _It is what it is. You. Me."_

Perfecting the last of her lose curls, Rory fishes a few bobby pins out of the bottom of her bathroom drawer, twisting and securing half of her hair up. Examining the look from both sides, she gives her reflection a small nod as she brushes color on to her lips. Her cell phone pinged from her bedroom and she snapped the light off in the bathroom, snatching it off her bed as she walked out. Swiping the screen, she quickly scans and deletes a junk email from Victoria's Secret, reminding herself that she needed to get a separate, useless email for all the useless shopping websites you sign up for to get all the discounts you will never, ever, ever use. Ever.

In the kitchen, she goes into a well-oiled routine. Travel mug, k-kup,pop tarts, hit button, go over schedule and wait for tasty breakfast treat and coffee. She had a pretty light day, mostly just editing and revising some pieces. Which, in Rory Gilmore terms, meant completely redoing articles that were perfectly fine just to see if she could make them better, then eventually turning in the original anyway. One is not raised by Lorelai without adopting a few quirks.

Hearing the familiar finishing gurgles on the Keurig, She snaps the lid on her cup and sails out the door, swinging her bag over her shoulder and tucks her phone into its outside pocket. Clenching the pop tart in her teeth she heads out the door, coffee cup in one hand, keys in the other, kicking the door to her apartment shut and locking it in an obviously practiced and impressive balancing act.

It was only a few blocks to the Chicago Tribune office, where she had been for the last two years. She had never expected to love the job in the city she'd never even considered as much as she did. And oh, how she did. Chicago was without a doubt the most captivating place she had ever chosen to work. She had done the bus thing, the New York thing, even went back to the Stanford Eagle Gazette in a small crisis of panic. But when the offer had come in for the Tribune, it was that magical moment where you know you've found your home. And it wasn't just because of the pizza. At least not all because of the pizza. She loved her windy city.

Maneuvering through the rotating door and swiped her badge up to the elevator keypad, hitting buttons automatically as she went smiling and waving to friends and acquaintances as she passed them. Rounding corners until she came to her cubical, she smiled again when she saw her editor Jerry waiting for her. She prided herself on always being punctual, if not early to work. She wasn't sure Jerry ever left. Honest, there were rumors that he had one of those tiny efficient ikea bedrooms stashed in the wall of his office, and Rory believed every one of them, even going so far as to look for hinges in the bookshelf (to no avail). The man was impressive.

Jerry nodded to her as she set her things down on her desk. "Morning, Ror."

"Good morning Jerry, what brings you to my cubical so early this morning?"

He smiled at her, and motioned for her to take a seat. Gladly doing so, she swiveled he chair around to face him again, sipping at her coffee.

"If my editor instincts are correct, you already have all of your assigned pieces ready to roll, yes?"

Rory narrows her eyes defensively and opens her mouth to fire off something about the dangers of stereotyping before he continues.

"Splendid. Then I'll just take those copies from you now before you waste an entire pay day rewriting them only to give me the ones you have now, I have something better for you to do with your time."

The hamsters in Rory's head that were busy whirring up good natured arguments to fire back came to a screeching halt on their wheels. She never could resist the draw of a personally handed out assignment.

"I'm in. Whatever it is. What is it?"

"It'll be a series, you're going to be doing a string of interviews with authors of up and coming novelists. Nothing that's made it to the best sellers quite yet, but are easily on their way. A few might even make it before you get to them. We're actually hoping for it.

Noticing the small frown on Rory's face, he continues.

"I know, I know. Before you even say it, I know this is a little too arts and entertainment for you. But you read books more than anyone I know. Hell, you might be the only one I know still actually ready books in this place. Actual books I mean... I know you've got three of 'em shoved into that Mary Poppins bag of yours. Don't even try to tell me you don't walk into book stores just to smell them. There's not a single soul in this building who will write this story with more heart and sincerity than you. You'll know what to ask these authors, know what a reader would want to read from them. Take this series. It'll do you good to get out of the politics game for a bit. Consider it a working vacation.

Rory still was fighting back a little worry frown. He was right. This wasn't her typical piece. But, he was _right._ Jerry always was. She may not be used to writing the entertainment pieces, but it was her passion. Anyone who knew her, knew her books. Literally. She had special ones around her apartment that she had assigned names to outside of their given titles. And he was right, it would be rather nice to take a break from the nitty gitty world of politics for a while.

"I'd be lying and you'd know it if I said I wasn't excited about this...but you're sure? "

"100%."

"Then it's a done deal. Tell me where to start my research, boss." She was practically bouncing in her chair at this point, already setting her logistics of the bookshops she could visit to find all of her assignments.

"All your info is in here. We're starting you out with a local guy, partly because his book is the shortest. You'll knock it out by lunch, which is great because you've got your first interview with him this afternoon."

Rory's mouth fell open. "You're kidding me right? I don't have anything prepared! I haven't read up on his history, past works, anything! There's sink or swim theory and then there's 'tie cement blocks to my feet and let me sleep with the fishes' theory!"

Her editor had the decency to look a little apologetic. "This guy is a little hard to tie down. I don't even know the strings we pulled to get an interview in the first place. Bit of a lone wolf. You'll be fine. Flash those big baby eyes of yours at him and he'll be putty in your hands. You're a natural, Ror. You've got this."

Jerry slid a folder that had been sitting on her desk the whole time towards her. She caught it and opened it as a thin book fell out , cover down, onto her lap.

"That's your first one. _Empire Alter_. The rest are all listed in your file. Meet up with me at the end of the day, I'll be interested to see how this goes. I'll leave you to it. Please, remember to have fun!" With a sincere smile, he was off, leaving a very flustered Rory to try to pull her self together and get down to business.

Taking a deep breath, she quickly reminded herself of all the rushed jobs that had turned out ok in her life. Moving to Yale, the Obama campaign…Everything was fine then, everything would be fine now. Best work under pressure and whatnot…right?

Flipping the book in her lap over, she quickly assessed the cover. Simple. Bold title. No fuss. Good. There was something to be said about a simple book cover.

Her eyes dropped to the bottom, and she felt her heart jump all the way to her throat. There, in small, bold print was the name Jess Mariano staring her in the face.

Oh boy.


End file.
